


5th element

by cyn_00



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Angst, Awkwardness, BAMFs, Background Case, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Cheesy, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Gunshot Wounds, Hospitalization, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Near Death, Non-Canon Relationship, Oblivious Derek, Oblivious Spencer Reid, Original Character(s), POV Alternating, POV Derek, POV Spencer Reid, Pining Derek, Racism, Sad Spencer Reid, Slow Burn, Unsub | Unknown Subject, Whump, Worry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:34:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26217226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyn_00/pseuds/cyn_00
Summary: Needless to say, Reid and Morgan are most likely in love with each other. The two show very different symptoms of such - between them AND within themselves - at times parallel, at times complementary, and others simply jarring. It just, takes the couple a little bit to put two and two together ;)Your classic slow-ish burn filtered through a specific lens(imagine this set around the second half of season 4)
Relationships: Derek Morgan & Spencer Reid, Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid
Comments: 59
Kudos: 95





	1. FIRE - pt. 1

Reid glanced at his wristwatch.

_What?_

He glanced again, and then tried the clock hung to the wall of the bullpen opposite to him, too. You know, to be sure.

6:32 pm. _Six. Thirty-two._

He glanced at the pile of reports heaped up on his desk, for a change. He mentally counted how many folders were left...seven. Ok, not too bad after all. He could be done in approximately 16 minutes.

And, _yes_ , his teammates were all still there; but Morgan was skimming through his third to last folder, while Prentiss had long finished and was absorbed in typing something on her computer.

So, how the hell was it possible that _Spencer Reid_ of all people, was so far behind with the paperwork? It wasn't simply "unusual": it _never happened_ that he'd have to stay longer than his teammates to finish - save from when he brought himself ahead with work for the next day, or when he entered in that sort of trance digging through old files. Or-

"Stare a lil harder, why don't ya?"

He eyed up at Morgan, leaning on the edge of his desk with that charming confidence oozing out of every pore of his being. When had the man got there? And when exactly had Reid started staring at Prentiss like that? And, last but not least, when the hell had it become so _hot_ all of a sudden?

"What?"

Morgan chuckled. For Christ's sake the man only _chuckled_ and Reid's insides were scalding at the rate of a kettle on the stove.

"You're staring at Prentiss like the woman fell from heaven. Don't get me wrong, she _is_ quite the view..."

Ouch. That stung. _Wasn't I your Pretty Boy?_

"Yes, I'm staring at her because I have reason to believe she slipped at least three of her files in my pile, and now she's minding her own business with all the non-chalance on the planet."

That must've come off more harshly than he'd planned, because Derek dropped the cheeky attitude in a bat of lashes.

He sucked his teeth. "Uh, yeah. She does that a lot." Morgan said apologetically - though it's not like _he_ had to apologize. Unless...

"What?" he then asked after a lull, in response to Reid's knowing gaze.

"Nuh-uh, you _know_ I don't do that anymore!" he added with his arms raised defensively - you know, like a _liar_.

Reid snorted, barely audible. "Whatever. Now, if you'll let me finish..." as in: _I don't know if you noticed, Derek Morgan, but you're quite the distraction._

Spencer dropped his gaze to get back to the task at hand, and immediately heard a deep sigh coming from the man above him.

"C'mon kid. Lemme help you with some of these so I can get you home before you lose your shit and snap at Prentiss, or me."

Derek's hand prodded within Spencer's line of sight, grabbing three folders from atop the stack.

He would've retorted - because it didn't make sense, _I'll probably just finish with my share of files before you and I'll end up having to wait_ \- but Morgan said that he'll get him home. He _said_ it, not _asked_ it. So Reid's brain effort had understandably shifted to that part of his colleague's phrase rather than the one he'd planned on countering to.

He followed the other's broad figure with his eyes before ducking his head once again to divert his attention from the later coming 20 minutes circa of sitting in Derek Morgan's car.

As previously forecast, Reid ended up finishing with his stack of paperwork by the time Morgan had just opened his last folder.

Of course, he was definitely NOT gonna point it out to Derek, so he had to find himself something to do.

He quickly figured _staring_ wasn't a good idea when the eyes of the man object of said staring shot up to glimpse at him, catching him looking a little too intently at his biceps when he wrote, or leaned back in his seat to lazily scratch the back of his neck, or stretched an arm out to reach some pen.

Spencer averted his gaze almost as quickly as an unstoppable flush stained the base of his throat and the shells of his ears - he could only thank Garcia for having suggested a couple of times to button up his shirt more neatly and to _not_ cut his mid-neck length curls.

To be honest, Reid didn't even _know_ he was one to blush easily before Derek Morgan. He also didn't know whether he didn't know that because he'd never _actually_ blushed before Morgan popped into his life, or simply because no one had ever pointed it out to him - which, instead, seemed to be his female teammates' favorite pass-time. All in all, there were a lot of things One-eighty-seven didn't know. Especially when it came to a certain Derek Morgan.

Anyway, Reid supposed he'd never actually blushed THAT much before because, even being obviously unable to see himself when that happened, he could tangibly _feel_ his face burning up like when you sunbathe for 5 hours straight - not that he'd know what that feels like. It's just one of those things he'd heard people say to be more "conversational", as he liked to put it. At times he wondered whether if someone pressed a finger pad to his flushed cheeks it would leave behind that stark-white print for a few seconds, typical of sunburns _._ Oh, Emily would LOVE to try that, wouldn't she.

"Hey, Reid"

...

"Reid?"

...

" _Pretty boooyy_ " Morgan's sing-songy voice and a finger bumping playfully on the tip of his nose managed to awaken Reid.

He shook his head and looked up at his colleague, once again leaning on his desk and absent-mindedly rummaging through the array of various pens and pencils and markers in one of the many mugs the genius had appointed as pen holders years ago; as though having the permit to consider everything that was _Reid's_ also _his own_ \- it was equally annoying and... _something else_ , which Spencer couldn't quite define but was at least loud enough to balance out the annoying part.

That genuine smile of Derek's reached Spencer's sight, blinding to the point of almost searing his tired corneas.

"Mm?" he mumbled. Much to his relief - _really, though?_ \- Derek was now wearing a hoodie AND his beloved leather jacket. No risk in getting caught staring at his biceps anymore.

Morgan chuckled - again, _Lord help me_.

"I'm done with the reports. You good to go?"

Reid's brows shot up as he shook his head vehemently - he must have been quite the show. "Oh, yeah! Sorry- I got distracted..."

"Yeah, I noticed. C'mon." the other man replied, standing to his feet and nodding his head in the direction of the sliding doors.

Spencer stood up as well like a puppy following orders, nearly knocking off the computer keyboard while grabbing his satchel from the desk. Luckily enough, if Derek noticed he didn't mention it.

Reid made an almost visible effort to put a halt to his upcoming eye-roll, when the two of them had to stop in their tracks right under the porch of the building to figure out how to get to the car without wetting themselves head-to-toe from the pouring storm that had burst in the _exact_ second they'd stepped out of the elevator.

The last thing he needed was to walk a hundred feet sheltered by the only umbrella they had, side-by-side with arguably the most handsome man who had ever cared to address him in his life. Aka his best friend. Co-worker, _whatever_.

It's not like he had any choice, though. He took the mini-umbrella out of his satchel and watched the surprised AND grateful expression form on Morgan's face.

"You really _are_ the one always saving the day, aren't you?"

Spencer nodded, biting back a smile. "I guess I am."

For some reason - certainly not one that could be supported by thermodynamics laws - Reid didn't feel cold at all throughout the whole 100 ft walk toward Morgan's car, despite the prickling cool wind blowing right in their faces.

He refrained from letting his brain unrequestedly form an answer of its own to that - because the answer would've been either the matter-of-fact option A) Derek Morgan radiated warmth like a flat out heater; or the dreadful B) the mere _proximity_ with Derek Morgan sparked up an all-encompassing heat through Spencer's body. Or a well measured combination of both instances.

 _Morgan_ on the other hand, was in fact shivering, and the genius found himself amusedly thinking that the man must've been quite the dummy to assume Reid wouldn't notice it underneath that cloak of tough-guy-ness of his.

Spencer pushed aside the urge to wrap an arm around his shoulders; because for starters that'd be inappropriate, and secondly his skinny limb wouldn't make the guy any warmer. As simple as that.

He led Morgan to the driver's side of the car and then jogged his way around to get in the passenger's seat.

"My hair's dripping anyway..." he mumbled once they were both safely inside, after having taken a quick look at his soaked self.

Morgan glanced at him with a look in his eyes the genius couldn't place - a little too _fond_ , if he really had to find a word for it; however assigning a specific term to said look seemed to do nothing to justify the unexpected nature of it.

"Better than nothing." he then merely said, shrugging as he started the car.

Spencer would've assumed - because it seemed obvious - that Derek was referring to the fact that even so much as his mini-umbrella had done _something_ to repair them from the rain; but that _damn_ look deep in the man's eyes blazing through the genius' skull almost suggested some additional, unspoken meaning - it didn't seem accurate to assume he meant only _that_ right off the bat.

Not that he could've named what that other thing was, anyway.

It was only after 10 minutes of quiet car ride that a simple, almost routine lift to his place slowly morphed into something a bit less routine; another situation Reid did definitely _not_ need that night - the first one being their previous striding trip to the car; helpless prey to the unforgiving rain.

Derek's phone started buzzing. Spencer's pupils traced apprehensively between the _driving_ man's face and his pocket, back and forth.

Morgan sighed and distractedly slid it out of his cargos with the hand that wasn't on the steering wheel - Reid somehow managed to find a crumb of comfort in the fact that _at least_ Derek didn't avert his gaze from the road to check the screen, picking up without bothering about who was calling.

"M- Morgan?? You're driving AND it's raining what the-"

"Morgan." the man answered the phone, blatantly ignoring his passenger's worry; and it was only because Reid was a polite man - and a man concerned about his life if he'd distracted Derek further - that he didn't try to cut him off with statistics about car accidents due to talking on the phone.

"Mrs Brooks! Yeah, I was- I was about to call you, I'll be home in... half an hour or so to pick up Cloon-"

"... _What??_ "

"Since when?"

"But- are you alright? Is there anything I can do or-?"

"You think? You really don't have to do that, I already owe you a million favors come on-"

"You sure?"

" 'Kay then... keep me posted. And please, call me if you need anything at all."

"Thank you again Mrs Brooks, see you later then."

Spencer carefully listened to the conversation with a frown pasted on his face, trying to read his colleague's expressive features - eavesdropping Mrs Brooks' part of their exchange wasn't an option, considering that the rain outside was noisy enough to render inaudible even the sound of his own thinking.

"...what was that about? Isn't Mrs Brooks your-"

"Neighbor. Yeah. She's the lady who keeps Clooney when I'm away." the other man finished Reid's phrase with a deep sigh.

"...and? Has something happened to her?"

Derek stopped the car at a red light and turned his head toward him with eyes full of something akin to apology.

"No, not to _her_ -"

"To- to Clooney then?? You can just drop me off here really, if- if something-"

"No, kid, nothing like that." the corner of Derek's mouth quirked up in a reassuring smirk. "There's a blackout in my whole neighborhood. Damn thunderstorm."

" _Oh_. Well, that's not good still."

"Nope." Morgan agreed, popping the 'p' of the word as the streetlight went green again.

The minute-long silence of the two men was filled by the drumming sound of water against the car body and windshield.

Spencer raised his gaze after he'd given quick thought to something. "But it must be... 50 degrees outside, you're gonna freeze at your house without heat."

Morgan grazed his upper teeth on his bottom lip, nodding but still seemingly unable to tear away that apologetic look ever-so-slightly veiling his godly features. "Yep."

Another thought flashed into the genius' mind, almost as if one of the lightnings from outside had poked through the roof of the car and branded it onto the forefront of his brain; and he had to let it out before the boldness to voice it could leak out of him.

"What do you say if uh...if you stay at my place until the light is back?" Reid asked; a hint of unbidden hope warping his otherwise kind tone.

All things considered, one could argue that Spencer was purposely shoving himself in that not-exactly-routine situation. Though he wasn't sure if _blaming_ or _thanking_ himself.

His mind started to hastily race through each and every possible one of Morgan's answers to his question, and - ever the self-conscious guy - Reid couldn't find ONE that would imply the man's enjoyment in coming up to his apartment: even if he said yes, the treacherous bug constantly lurking inside Spencer's brain would undoubtedly file the apparent consent under the "times Derek Morgan agreed to do something with you out of courtesy or pity or most likely _mockery_ " folder _._

_Of course he doesn't want to; the man has already spent the entirety of a 8-hour work day around you, he even bothered to give you a ride; how did it cross your mind to ask him to spend yet another hour if not more with you? Plus, your place is such a mess he probably would rather go back to his big, neat house at the cost of freezing his ass; I don't know on the base of what exactly you think he'll accept; you must have quite the nerve to ask him yet another favor-_

Morgan's full-on, relieved smile met Reid's eyes. "Oh thank _God_ you got the hint, pretty boy. Would've been hella embarrassing to ask explicitly."

_...Oh._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! So uhm, this is my first multi-chapter fic, hence saying that I'm nervous is an understatement. Pls let me know your thoughts so far (in the comments or hmu on Tumblr), so I can understand if this is proceeding toward a sensible direction or I should just drop everything lol (not true, I'll bring this baby to completion regardless *wicked laugh*). Ofc you probably won't have yet picked up on the "concept" of the fic, I promise (? hopefully lol) that it'll unfold more clearly in the next chapter(s)


	2. FIRE - pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is way longer! Yay! The first one was to test the waters...dip my toes ;) also this is unnecessarily dramatic, but you know me...¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

One of those other things concerning Derek Morgan and his interactions with him that One-eighty-seven didn't know, was how to _feel_ every time Derek tossed his jacket haphazardly on a chair or the dresser or the backrest of the couch ONE literal second after entering his apartment.

Scratch that: what Reid didn't know wasn't _how to feel_ , because the homely warmth spreading up his chest born from the very pit of his stomach was an unmistakable sensation, one like no other - what he didn't know was why he wasn't bothered by a man storming in his house and quite unpolitely throwing his jacket wherever provided that it was within arm's reach.

 _Oof_. No, he DID know that, didn't he. It was because "a man" wasn't "a _random_ man", it was none less than Derek Morgan; aka his best friend, co-worker, _whatever would you just stop trying to label him? It's not gonna help you, for crying out loud._

This time, the place of choice where to drop his leather jacket was a chair in a forgotten corner of the room; while Reid hung his own jacket and satchel on the coat hanger like a normal person. If it weren't for the endless rows of books cluttering inch by inch every horizontal surface in the house, one could easily say that that was _Derek's_ place rather than _Spencer's_ , by how effortlessly comfortable the former always sauntered around the place. But then again: the man seemed to basically own every object he touched or room he stepped in or person he talked to. And how the hell could you get mad when he did it so enchantingly.

By the time Reid had all of that - almost - figured out, Morgan was, in fact, sitting on his couch, gazing blankly at the ceiling with an arm bent to rest the back of his hand on his forehead - a sign of sheer exhaustion... _or having regretted asking to come up to my place._

Reid made his way around the couch to stand arm-folded in front of him, noticing that his eyes were actually closed.

It was challenging enough to remain somewhat distracted from his perennial thinking when Derek was awake and moving, let alone if he were to fall asleep on his couch - _then_ , there would literally be nothing left to hinder Spencer from staring at him for hours on end.

"...pizza?" he asked, hoping food would catch his attention.

It did _not_.

He non-committally nudged the man's foot with his ankle. "Morgan?"

" _Mmh?_ " Derek hummed. His voice was capable of lighting up sparkles in Spencer's belly whether it was forging something coherent or not.

"I was, uh..." he gulped. "I was asking if you're feeling pizza?"

 _Oh God no he's smiling again._ Reid immediately slid his phone out of his pocket to call the pizza place down the street without needing for a verbal answer. Which came anyway.

"You _must_ be the best profiler out of us all, doc"

And now Spencer was smiling too.

"Reid, we are _not_ gonna watch one of those lame quiz shows, I ain't telling you again."

"But WHY not??"

"Cause you know all the answers already!"

"Yeah!" the genius smirked self-complacently. "That's the point!"

"Exactly that's the point! What about ME? You'll end up answering out loud before I'll have even finished _reading_ the question-"

" _My_ house. I make the rules." Spencer interrupted him with a tone he wished had come off as assertive, but was quickly betrayed by the amused grin playing at the corners of his lips.

They scrutinized each other's eyes for definitely too long, Reid thought, because that playful grin was starting to falter a little, overpowered by an increasingly heating sensation - albeit not a foreign one in Morgan's presence - simmering somewhere around the lower part of his abdomen. And it was _not_ his stomach.

Spencer didn't avert his gaze, though, when Derek shifted on the cushion as little as 4 or 5 inches closer to him.

He didn't avert his gaze when a gentle smile slowly graced the man's lips, surprised by himself at how he was managing to keep looking into his eyes that were certainly pretty but held an unarguable second position on the podium once that smile was brought into play.

He didn't avert his gaze when Derek's hand gradually reached forward, forcing himself to not eye down even it being frustratingly out of his visual field.

_Is this really happening?_

...

 _No it's NOT_ , he answered to himself as he barely registered Morgan pitching forward as quick as a cat to snatch the TV remote out of Reid's shallow grip, chuckling to himself for having accomplished taking advantage of the other's distraction.

 _Now_ , Spencer averted his gaze.

And it was only because the doorbell rang 20 seconds after at most, that he didn't burst out crying there and then.

He stood up from the couch, disinterested in noticing whether Morgan had said something or looked at him funny or moved or whatever. He headed to the front door and like nothing short of a robot he opened it, greeted, took the pizza, paid and thanked the delivery guy, went to set the carton on the coffee table, made his way toward the kitchen, opened the fridge, took two cheap beers he didn't even know he had, doubled back to the living room and reclaimed his previous seat on the couch at last.

Spencer couldn't keep at bay the subtle but constant flames burning beneath his temples. He was mad at _himself_ , not at _Derek_ \- how was that his fault in ANY way? How was it Derek's fault that for once Spencer had loosened up, had tried to "live a little" and seize the moment to picture something that would never happen? How was it Derek's fault that he had unwillingly conjured a scenario that belonged only in his dreams, a scenario that should've remained hidden into that part of his brain where things were allowed to sneak out from only when he was asleep and didn't have to commit to any of them, to hold himself accountable, to find a justification for even having let his imaginary build them in the first place? How was it Derek's fault that Spencer's brain was too insidious, too eager, too restless, too everything to stop itself from giving birth to the most unthinkable of thoughts? How was it his fault that the awkward genius had wanted to admit to being "blind to social cues" and tried to force himself to grasp onto them only this time and even then he had somehow got them all mixed up and put them together the wrong way?

"Spencer?"

It must have been at least the fourth time that his name was being called by the one man who had no fault in all this out of the two.

But it didn't reach the scorching eardrums of the guilty man until "Reid" became "Spencer", and a hand was placed on his shoulder.

Only then _Spencer_ had no choice but to meet the other's eyes and notice his look, slightly worried and slightly confused but mostly just a crumb too fond, too affectionate, too caring - just like the one he'd given him an hour earlier in his car. And even so much as that tiny crumb was doing the trick of mushing it all up inside Spencer's brain, igniting the wall that most of the times had managed to keep apart what felt _good_ and what felt _bad_ but now that tiny crumb of too-muchness in Derek's look was not only failing to extinguish that rage toward himself, more so it was adding to it, so Spencer wasn't really sure on which side of the wall that look of his fell. Not anymore. And if in the past he'd somewhat succeeded in stepping on the matchsticks at the base of the wall, threatening to catch fire for real each time; now the wall was on fire for good. Because that was just a crumb too many.

"Y- yeah?" he found the nerve to reply, albeit in such a small voice he wasn't even sure whether the words had actually exited his mouth or he was imagining it.

Morgan's thumb started rubbing softly right below Reid's collarbone, over the endless layers of clothing.

"You haven't touched the food yet. Or opened your beer."

Spencer eyed at the mentioned objects, swallowing. His share of the pizza was intact, his bottle of beer was dripping cold condense on the wooden table top.

"And you haven't explained to me any of the answers." Spencer could hear a smile in Derek's tone, even if his pupils were still tracing between the half empty carton and the forgotten glass bottle.

_...answers? What the hell is the guy on about, this time?_

"Hey," that was enough to bring Spencer's eyes back to the man sitting beside him.

Derek looked at him kindly and nodded his head in the direction of the TV.

It was on mute, but a lame quiz show was just starting again after the ad break.

The wall inside his brain was still burning, but the raging fire gradually transitioned into something akin to a comforting, warming fireplace, and its black fumes weren't suffocating his lungs and stinging his eyeballs anymore; they were clear as air and scented and pleasantly inebriating Spencer's mind and soul and body.

He shot Derek a quick but immensely grateful look, before reaching out to grab a slice of his cold pizza while the man's hand left his shoulder and un-muted the TV again.

That one was one of those rare and far between moments when Reid felt no need to explain himself. To explain to Morgan that it wasn't having complied his request to watch lame quizzes at last that he was grateful for, it wasn't _that_ the reason why he'd got upset out of the blue. And that the actual reason was still there, was going to be there forever, at times more quiet than others but it didn't matter for the time being, did it? Provided that Derek was going to be there for as long as that faint but discomforting presence was, to counterbalance it; even being exactly _him_ to cause it - but Spencer wasn't going to tell him that. Ever.

He felt as though Morgan knew all that already - _almost_ all. Maybe Reid wasn't the "good" profiler out of the two, despite the other man's praising.

"By the way," Spencer started before taking a bite of his pizza. "The question itself here is incorrect. It wasn't Henry VII the famous Henry who had six wives, it was Henry _VIII_. I don't know how they didn't notice the mistake..." the genius wondered to himself. 

He then made a sound of exult halfway through his sip of beer when the contestant got the answer right. "Yeah! 3 out of 6 of Henry's wives were called Catherine."

Derek snorted. "He had a type, huh?"

"Yep" the other giggled, nodding. "though everyone only knows the first one, Catherine of Aragon, because she was the most 'famous'. Did you know that she was married to Henry's _brother_ before him?"

Morgan's brows arched. "I did _not_."

The next 40 minutes were pure chaos in Reid's brain; forcing himself to ramble about the topics mentioned in the show to keep distracted from the omnipresent battle within him.

For the most part he just wanted all those cozy nights spent on either's couch watching lazy TV programs and eating junk food with Morgan to never end; but _even_ Reid's spotless mind hid an "impatient" part, a part that was small and underdeveloped and not nearly as overly employed as the patient one, the enduring one, the one trusting of his capabilities: if the genius was certainly not the type to settle for the minimum when it came to work or academic achievements, he surely _was_ when it came to relationships - that was a field in which Reid couldn't afford being impatient. But for some reason that impatience only reserved to brain-wise matters instead of heart-wise ones was being called out in that moment, demanding for the cozy nights to stop altogether if they were never going to be more than cozy nights; and every one of those nights Spencer was an inch closer to either confessing his feelings - though it's not like he'd know WHAT to say - or snuggling in Derek's arms and placing the man's hand in his curls... _or jumping on his lap and kissing his stupid handsome face._

So as the quiz show was nearing its end, Spencer's geeky interventions became less and less, trailing off until they'd dispersed completely in the warm and fuzzy atmosphere brought in by Derek's presence, inhabiting his usually cold and lonely apartment.

Morgan leaned back on the couch and yawned, with that ease Reid still wasn't sure if defining as mere comfort within the closeness of their friendship or maybe something _more_ , something like the feeling of unquestionable safety and love the genius would instead define it as if it were _him_ allowing himself to stretch and yawn on _Derek's_ couch rather than the other way around.

He stared at his tired colleague for some time, not sure _how much_ exactly but it must have been a lot because with each second passing Reid could feel a hair on his arm standing up, and by the time he had regained a bare minimum consciousness of his surroundings both his arms were cladded in their entirety by sleeves of goosebumps underneath the ones of his button-up.

And blame it on the beer or the haziness from being full of food and sleepy or his well acknowledged touch-starved condition or the ticking sound of the rain outside, as some sort of taunting clock punctuating every minute he was _not_ spending in Derek's arms, reminding him of each instant he was wasting - blame it on that damn impatience peeping out unbidden; but Spencer was starting to contemplate with alarmingly increasing realism to shuffle closer and rest his head on the man's shoulder.

So he gathered up all the courage he could and closed out the uncertainties for a quick second, enough to _actually_ shift a little on the cushion.

His eyes never unglued from the man's face in order to catch with sensible advance any potential signs that he was pulling out of his nearly dozing state - albeit with eyes ajar.

Spencer's heart seemed to be physically attempting to escape his body, hammering intensely against his sternum for the whole duration of his motion, one that logically he _knew_ didn't require that much commitment after all but all the same felt like the hugest one of his life; bigger than sending his mom to a sanitarium when he turned 18 or enrolling for yet another PhD on his already above average long list of degrees or applying for his FBI training or admitting to Gideon his crush on JJ or humbling himself enough to finally seek help for his addiction or-

Morgan's phone buzzed. Reid's curly head wasn't even remotely proximal to touching the man's shoulder and _his phone fucking buzzed._

" _Sh't_ " the man mumbled, startled awake as Spencer realized how close he'd got to him and immediately squirmed back a few inches before Derek could realize it too.

"Hello? Mrs Brooks?"

"Thank God, yeah that's- that's _great_. I'll be home in 10 minutes tops."

"Nonono you don't need to worry about that, Imma take care of it. Thank you once again Mrs Brooks, I'll see you in a few."

Morgan stood from the couch a second after hanging up. Reid couldn't help but compare the sensation of the cushion lifting up beside him, leaving an empty spot no longer sinking under the man's weight to the one you feel when you're cuddling a kitten and suddenly it jumps off of your lap to chase a mouse. Slips away from your embrace to do something more important than settling for your mere presence.

"A'ight kid, you'll be glad to hear that I'm finally done eating food you paid for and taking space on your couch." Derek said in a sheepish exhale, for some reason failing at pulling off his signature joking tone.

Spencer weighed his options for a hot minute, wondering if it'd be too inappropriate and humiliating to launch himself at the man's feet and hug his knees to prevent him from going away. As expected, he concluded that he could never get away with something _that_ level of pathetic.

"I AM glad to hear that." the genius decided to reply, nodding. He, too, failed at a joking tone - however he knew very well HIS motive.

Reid pondered just a moment too late that he could've reacted differently; less humoring of Morgan's usual mocking and more genuine, without it resulting in giving himself away completely. He could've simply shrugged, and said that he didn't mind him staying, unspokenly hinting that such principle applied every time Derek came over. It was allowed to say something like that in the context of a friendship, right? It was socially acceptable to express that feeling in a "platonic" relationship. It wasn't too much, was it? Despite having read dozens of books about the psychology behind human relations and such, and despite having inherited the major part of his knowledge from books, Reid wasn't naive to the point of relying solely on them, of being blindly convinced that books are in all respects oracles that can supply a very specific answer to a very specific question: the "specific questions" he was used to ask living, breathing people. And the living-breathing person to whom he'd feel less embarrassed to ask THAT specific question was... _Morgan_. But that was sort of a conflict of interest, now wasn't it? Maybe Penelope, then. _Or maybe not:_ she was way too perceptive and...likely to talk to people she _shouldn't_ talk to about things she _shouldn't_ talk about. To sugar-coat it.

However, Morgan was now on the threshold of his door, so - to ease his guilt - Reid told himself it was far too late for any of that. Whether it be saying that casual _"I didn't mind, anyway"_ , or asking him IF it was legit to do so. Wishful thinking that the next time, the next cozy night with junk food, he'd have the nerve to speak the words for real.

He stilled in front of the man - standing in the hallway already - one hand gripping the door handle while his free arm embraced his torso shyly; as if stopping it before it could either hurl forward to grab Derek's wrist and pull him close, or slapping himself right in that coward face of his for lacking the courage to do that. There was no in-between.

"Reid?"

"Yes?" his eyes darted up to him again.

"Thanks"

Spencer smiled lopsidedly; a tinge of confusion and wariness beneath his caramel irises. "If it's about the pizza, it's really nothi-"

" _Tsk._ Just..." Derek shrugged, tilting his head. "You know."

Reid's eyes dropped again. "Yeah..." he murmured. "I guess I know."

_I really don't, though._

He refused to look at the other's reaction to that, forcibly shifting his focus to something else that popped into his brain.

"Oh! Uhm, w- wait, uh..." he trailed off; gaze fidgeting around in search for something.

He reached for the umbrella he'd left on the dresser and handed it to him.

"Nah man, don't worry about that, I don't think it's raining that much anymore, plus my car's right up front-"

"Just in case? You'll give it back tomorrow, it's no big deal."

Morgan sighed in defeat. "Alright." he took the mini-umbrella. "See ya at work, then."

"Yeah," Reid delivered his usual awkward wave of hand and the grimace that came with it. "See you tomorrow."

He closed the door.

The comforting fireplace that had replaced the flaming wall inside Spencer's mind, dwelling in its place so far, started to die along with the warmth it had effused head-to-toe in his whole being, leaving behind nothing but burning ashes; itchy reminders of a feeling stripped out of him the moment Derek had disappeared behind the heavy door of his apartment.

His finger pads went cold, as the tip of his nose did, and the soles of his feet and his neck shuddered and every cubic inch of air he inhaled freezed his lungs from the inside out like liquid nitrogen, too.

His house was cold again.

Spencer turned on his heels and looked around his empty living room nostalgically, until something caught his eye, something out of place that didn't belong there.

Derek's beloved leather jacket, sitting on the back of that forgotten chair he'd appointed as hanger a couple of hours before.

He grabbed it and, guided by instinct and basic logic, slid his phone out of the pocket to call him.

His thumb hovered over the name "Derek Morgan" displayed on the screen for a few seconds, glancing between that and the jacket in his other hand several times.

_I can give it back tomorrow, right? He's wearing a hoodie, it's not like he'll freeze to death or anything. Plus, he has MY umbrella after all._

Spencer locked the screen and put the phone back where it was before he could change his mind, directing his undivided attention to the jacket. _Derek's_ jacket. His favorite- _their_ favorite; not that Morgan knew Reid loved it, of course.

He brought it to his face and nuzzled his nose in the collar and... _oh, shit_. Beneath the strong layer of leather scent, it smelled exactly like Derek - like his cologne and black musk and something rich and comforting that he couldn't name precisely but unmistakably _Derek_.

Having by then dived in an irreversible coil of lovesickness and melancholia and daydreaming, the genius gave in to his urge to _wear_ it; without thinking about the implications of such action and the downsides his emotionally wrecked heart would have to face later, despite his usually far-sighted self.

He sneaked an arm in one sleeve, and then the other, and he adjusted the collar, immediately perceiving the weight of the material upon his shoulders, just like all those times Morgan hugged him and his strong arm draped heavily around him and his hand curled behind his neck and his chin dug a hole in his shoulder and a palm pressed the small of his back against his front; and if only it weren't for the blush spreading on his face like wildfires do in dry woods and for his teeth insistently chewing at his bottom lip to contain a silly giggle, Spencer could swear his eyes were almost watering at the memory of that sensation - for the second time that night.

As though led by an invisible person from behind, he made his way toward the bedroom and stood across the mirror.

The jacket fit him completely differently from how it fit Morgan. If it sat perfectly on the man's broad shoulders almost like a tailored one would do, it hung heavy on the genius' edgy ones. If the sleeves enveloped the man's arms without squeezing them but suggesting they were muscular underneath them nonetheless, the genius' skinny limbs could've fit twice in them, dancing freely in the large girth. If the elastic cuffs encircled the man's wrists just in the right way, they fell over the genius' slim ones almost to his knuckles, several folds of thick leather summing up and weighing his hands down. And since the height of the two men was basically the same, it wasn't the shoulder-to-hip length of the jacket in itself what made Spencer look so small inside the piece of clothing, it was more about how the flaps overlapped almost in their entirety when he tried to close them around his slender torso - he could've worn at least another 2 sweaters underneath that jacket.

But it wasn't the "bad" kind of smallness. It wasn't the one he felt when he saw his teammates kick and tackle and punch unsubs with little to no effort, well aware that he could _never_ do that in his life; or the one he felt when he interviewed some gang leader that sized him up with utter condescension; or when an attractive woman at a bar hardly spared him a single glance; or when JJ and Penelope and Emily looked at him full of pity when he didn't get an innuendo - it was none of that. It was the "good" kind of small. The one that took him quite a while to feel but eventually replaced the "bad" kind every time Rossi called him "kid" and "son" or Morgan called him "pretty boy" or Garcia called him "boy genius" and "boy wonder" or JJ called him "Spence"; the one arising in him when Morgan ruffled his hair and laughed good-heartedly at him but all the same could stare at him completely awestruck as little as a second later if he'd come up out of the blue with _"super smart stuff"_ \- Garcia's words; or the one he felt each time JJ or Derek or Emily offered him a ride home because they _wanted_ to and not out of _duty_.

Spencer buried his hands in the pockets, knowing that Derek _always_ had his hands in the pockets of that jacket; and that awareness was what finally torched the reassuring warmth once again inside him, increasing every second he spent engulfed in Morgan's jacket as if something or someone was adding wooden logs to the fireplace to fuel it.

Unsurprisingly, he found a few items in there: a 50 cent coin, a pack of gums and his colleague's card; "Supervisory Special Agent Derek Morgan" along with his cell number and the FBI logo printed neatly black-on-white on the small piece of thin cardboard. The wriggling flames of his metaphorical fireplace faltered a little at the realization that Derek probably _always_ kept a spare card in every pocket of every piece of clothing he owned, in order to never get caught empty-handed in case he found some pretty lady drooling over him at random moments during his day; but at that point Spencer figured only _removing_ the jacket would be enough to blow away the small fire inside him altogether.

Except he _did_ have to pull the jacket off. He did because Morgan finding out not only that Reid didn't bother returning it immediately, but on top of that he wore it - as if _wearing_ it was the problem and not the endless sequence of absurd reveries that the act of wearing it had triggered - would be the most pathetic and embarrassing scenario possible, EVEN more than the earlier pondered option of throwing himself at his co-worker's knees to try and keep him in his house forever - and if Spencer hadn't given in to doing _that_ , then he wouldn't give in to spending another hour in that jacket either.

However, it's easier to say than to do, as Reid knew very well, more so since it almost seemed like the inner lining of the jacket was sticking to his own clothes with superglue; hence probably only getting completely naked would come to his aid in taking off the jacket, and even _then_ \- despite himself - Spencer wasn't sure he would manage to get rid of it.

Something, though, _something_ finally clicked and Reid _actually_ pulled his body out of Morgan's jacket, some sort of willpower that he didn't even know _how_ it managed to dissuade him from going to sleep wearing that jacket over his usual pajamas. What the genius _did_ know was that, for some reason, he seemed to never be able to summon that same willpower when Morgan WAS around, because otherwise he would've remained unbeknownst of how he _was_ in fact one to blush easily a little longer, if not forever.

And Spencer somehow knew - once again ignoring thermodynamics - that it wasn't because he was lacking the insulating effect of leather if he felt achingly cold all night long. Just like it hadn't been _that_ to make him warm before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can probably gather, the "chapters" will actually be 5, in the sense that each "arc" I'm portraying comes to an end when I switch element rather than at the end of the actual chapter (does it make sense??). I decided to split every element in 2 chapters because as an avid fanfiction reader I noticed that I personally prefer more, shorter chapters updated frequently (I'm thinking every 7/10 days?) instead of less, longer ones - I feel like this way is less "boring" and lends itself to be followed more easily.  
> (by "shorter" I mean like...not 10,000 words lmao)


	3. EARTH - pt. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took me _way_ too long and Imo it's also definitely disappointing. I hope some of you like it, still 👉👈

Of course Morgan had noticed he forgot his jacket at Reid's place. How could he have _not_ noticed - it's his favorite jacket.

He had simply refrained from making a big deal out of it until Reid actually came up to his desk the next morning at work to give it back. Reid with his burnt-maroon sweater vest and his brown corduroy pants and his leather satchel. Reid with hazelnut curls and caramel, doe eyes. Reid all damn adorable and flustered and apologetic and stuttering.

 _Then_ , a bunch of weird feelings sprang in Derek's stomach; and the genius most likely didn't even know it had been exactly _him_ to sow them there, sprinkling them a few at a time in the pit of Morgan's belly, doomed to grow suffocatingly tall and strong.

"Kid, you have nothing to apologize for, I _left_ it there."

Spencer looked at him gaping, as though he'd said the most earth-shattering, ground-breaking thing ever.

"Y- yeah, but I, I should've...called you or something..." he mumbled timidly, handing him the jacket.

Derek straightened up in his swivel chair and took it, but even after that, Spencer seemed reluctant to go back to his desk; like a tall and skinny tree wobbling against the forceful wind but determined to stay planted in the soil nonetheless.

"Reid...is there something you need to tell me?"

_Please tell me something, whatever you want._

"Uhm, yeah, ah..." Spencer grimaced slightly, as if apologizing in advance. "you still have my...my umbrella, right?"

Wow. _A total, complete fucking idiot. Great job, Agent Morgan._

"Oh," Derek shifted in the chair to reach for his duffle bag on the desk, hoping he'd remembered about the umbrella.

As he rummaged through his stuff and found it, he realized he had _not_ been hoping for that, actually. He should've forgotten it on purpose - it would've been the perfect excuse to ask Reid to follow him home after work and give it back, and then one thing would've lead to another and eventually he would've lured him into staying an hour or two more.

If it had been anyone else except for Spencer Reid - some girl he had to make an impression on - the idea would've popped up in Morgan's head in a snap of fingers. Was he losing game or was it just... well, was it just _Spencer Reid?_

 _Maybe next time_ , he promised himself as he handed the man his mini-umbrella, apologizing once again.

"It's just an umbrella." the genius replied with a shrug to Derek's landslide of _'I'm sorry, I should've brought my own'_ and the like.

Yeah. It's just an umbrella.

Barely an hour of paperwork and aimless trips to the break room had passed before Morgan's interest was caught by _something_ he wasn't expecting - mostly what he wasn't expecting was to feel giddy about it when he noticed it.

As he signed the umpteenth report, he spotted a light-hued thread sticking out on the dark complexion of his forearm - the color contrast the only reason he was able to see it in the first place, considering the thinness of it, almost like a hair.

No. _Exactly_ like a hair.

 _It MUST be Penelope's_ \- he thought, ignoring the several beats his heart had skipped.

He picked it up between index and thumb, examining it as though he'd found it at a crime scene out of the joint force of pure luck and the unsub's oversight.

It wasn't nearly long and blond and straight enough to be Garcia's, though: that _wasn't_ him projecting his hopes into the silliest occurrences of life, it was mere sensible gauging of the evidence at hand.

Morgan couldn't help but turn around; not to look at the person he was already pretty certain the hair belonged to, more so to fetch further proof of his theory in the inner-lining of his leather jacket.

There, indeed, he found it: hanging from the collar of the jacket were a couple more hair in all respects similar to the one he'd found on his arm.

Only then he glanced up at Reid, quickly to not be caught in the act but still long enough to be able to picture him wearing his jacket - not that he'd never done that, just to be clear. It was simply tenfold better now that he knew for a fact the boy _had_ in fact worn it, even if probably just for a minute.

The fantasy of Spencer looking undoubtedly gorgeous in his clothes withered just so that another one could bloom: what if the fabric had soaked up the _smell_ of Spencer? The homely scent of coffee and books mixed in with that _something_ almost flowery that must've had to do with his shampoo?

" _Guys_ ,"

Morgan's and his teammates' heads snapped up at the sound of JJ's voice as she brushed past their desks, striding in a frenzy toward the stairs that led to the briefing room.

She didn't need to elaborate, merely waving a hand as a sign to follow her.

With that, and the quick rising of Reid and Prentiss to their feet, Morgan's reverie wasn't simply dismissed _for the time being_ : it was rather swallowed back somewhere forgotten in the quicksand of his mind.

As he watched the back of the genius' head, curls bouncing with each step, he realized Reid had NO reason what so ever to _want_ to wear his jacket. That's stupid. Not possible.

 _It didn't happen_ , Derek decided.

Stafford, Texas. "17 thousand, 6 hundred and ninety-three."

"How do you know that?? Come on." Prentiss scoffed.

Morgan turned his head to get a good look at the genius' expression, sitting beside him on the jet.

Reid's eyes shifted from the case file in his hand to their colleague's teasing face.

He shrugged. "I just, _know_."

Emily's brows furrowed. "That doesn't mean anything, Stafford must be like... one of the smallest cities in Texas, you don't just _know_ things like that!"

Spencer grimaced. "Mmh, not quite. There are many cities in Texas that count as little as a hundred citizens, not to mention-"

" _Reid_." their Unit Chief's steely voice cut him off.

Derek couldn't help but quietly chuckle at the boy's reaction as he snapped his mouth shut and dipped his head in the folder once again, his lips pursed in his usual awkward-sheepish smile.

"And, Prentiss," Hotch prompted after the silence, directing his attention to the person who had started it all.

"He just, _knows_." he reiterated, a hint of smirk lessening the lingering harshness of his previous scolding glare.

Morgan beamed as he heard a feeble snort coming from the man beside him, spotting an adorably self-complacent grin on his still slightly embarrassed face.

He completely ignored Prentiss' outraged reaction to their boss' words, which instead seemed to be everyone's focus in that moment except for Prentiss' herself, whose eyes he could _feel_ glued on him.

Derek wondered if Emily's _probably_ amused stare had anything to do with his incapability of wiping that smile off of his face - one a little too affectionate, maybe.

Spencer wasn't looking back at him, though the rosy tint of his cheeks didn't falter, which suggested he _must_ have noticed.

"Alright. Let's go over victimology." Hotch's voice returned to its usual earnest pitch, sweeping away both agent's playful grins.

The killings weren't particularly gory - which at least Morgan was thankful for. On the contrary, actually: the unsub's MO of choice was to follow his victims until he could corner them in sketchy alleys and slash their jugular with a knife. Quick and easy.

As quick and easy as murdering a human being could be, that is.

What Derek wasn't particularly keen on, was not the act in itself, rather that the unsub cared enough to take some time to write onto the victims' foreheads with their blood, labeling them.

 _Slut_ , one said. _Filthy_ , another one. _Crackhead_ , the third and last so far.

The first victim was, in fact, a prostitute; the second one a homeless; the third an addict.

A mexican 34 year-old woman; a black, old man; a puertorican teenage kid.

Sara Moreno; James Moore; Samuel Torres.

To top it all, the sheriff nor the officers were of any help: not only were they skeptical, to sugar-coat it - which, all in all, the team were used to - more so racist and xenophobes.

So, Morgan was _very_ thankful at least the killings weren't particularly gory.

As he walked inside the precinct along with Rossi, after a swift and uneventful visit to the M.E., he checked his wristwatch.

"Gonna get coffee. Want some?" he decided with a sigh upon gathering it was 10 to 6 pm already.

David waved a hand in dismissal, heading toward the room the rest of their team had settled in.

While strolling tiredly toward the counter tucked in a corner of the lobby - they didn't have a proper kitchenette or break room, which both Prentiss and Reid had complained about in depth - he noticed the station was decidedly less crowded than when he and Rossi had left an hour or so before.

The exhaustion posessing his mind and body was the reason Derek's realization that 6 pm was about the time _normal people_ got off work came with a concerning delay.

That same reason was what had denied him to instantly zero in on the conversation happening between two officers across the room, occasionally sparing a not-quite-unnoticed glance in his direction.

"...what did the feds call him again? A _'vigilante'_ somethin'?" Morgan was able to hear, pouring himself some coffee in a disposable cup.

"Mhmh. Yeah, pretty sure."

The officer who had spoken first sighed. "I mean... he could've spared 'em the whole..." he gestured lazily. "...writing with the blood thing, but..." he shrugged.

Morgan was now hyper-aware of where the man's reasoning was going. He hoped until the last second he wouldn't actually _say_ it, though - he was too damn tired to get over there and argue.

"Yeah, man." the younger one nodded his understanding before his colleague had to elaborate. " 'ts not like he tortured them, right? Bet my ass that junkie almost thanked him."

 _Ok_. Enough is enough.

Derek took a last sip of his coffee and tossed the cup in the nearest bin before making his way toward the two officers with a piercing glare.

The couple immediately straightened up and dropped the subject when spotting the federal agent approaching them.

"Did I hear right?" Morgan inquired warily.

The younger officer looked helplessly at his partner, as though he didn't even feel upon himself the duty to respond.

The other picked up on the hint and cleared his throat. "Hear what?"

Derek narrowed his eyes, sizing him up for a second before snorting dryly.

"You think these people _asked_ for it? Uh?"

The man who had remained silent until then shook his head.

" _Nah_ dude, look-"

"I'm not your _'dude'_. I'm one of the professionals YOU called to help you solve these crimes. 'Cause _that's_ what these are." Morgan spat, pointing at the cork board in the center of the room where the victims' pictures were pinned.

"We ain't saying these aren't crimes." the older officer summoned a bit of nerve to defend himself.

"We were just saying, these people lived on the street, it's not like they were livin' a hell of a life anyway..." the other added non-committally.

Derek scowled at the man who had provided that absurd justification, too shocked to notice that the other one had stepped a foot closer.

"You gotta be careful what you're implying here, man." he said with a deeper tone than before.

Morgan shifted his focus back to him. "First off, it's _Agent._ Sec-"

His reply was cut off by a loud scoff from the officer, now standing straight right in front of him.

"Hah! So NOW you're 'Agent'. Seemed to me you were making a point of not seeing you and your team as superior or rival just a few hours before, am I right?"

" _Morgan?_ "

A familiar voice deterred him from countering to that accusation. The spiteful, venomous, gruff voice the officer was using had nothing on this one - smooth, calm, kind.

_Spencer._

All three turned heads to face the boy, standing tentatively a couple of desks away.

Reid hesitated a few seconds, glancing confusedly between the men and approaching closer at last.

" _Pfft_... dear Lord." the younger officer mumbled to himself in a mocking snort.

The only reason why Morgan didn't throw a punch right in his face - the guy must've been _really_ stupid to think he wouldn't get what he was snorting about - was that Pretty Boy was there now. So all of that didn't quite matter anymore.

Derek reckoned that Spencer must have heard, seeing how he purposely neglected greeting the two officers or acknowledging them verbally in any way.

"Uhm... Hotch, he- he's looking for you." he claimed in a low voice.

Morgan frowned. Something was off.

"He hasn't texted me or anything." he said, quickly slipping his phone out of his cargos to have further confirmation.

Reid shot an ice-cold glance to the officers before directing his gaze right into Morgan's eyes; a look the latter couldn't quite read but was worth humoring.

He ran his tongue along his bottom lip in thought.

"A'ight." he caved in eventually, glaring once more at the men.

"I'll make sure to let the sheriff know what you guys think, since you seem to take great pride in it. Mh?"

It wasn't so much a question, rather a statement; devoid of the loud and raging tone he'd used earlier, which illogically but expectedly seemed to work like magic in snatching that idiotic smirk off of both officers' smug faces.

The couple made its way toward the conference room silently.

Or at least, that's where Morgan _supposed_ they were headed.

A few feet were parting him from the door when Reid abruptly grabbed his wrist.

"Reid? What the hell-" he managed to blurt out before he was being tugged away from his forethought destination.

He didn't have the time - nor the will, to be completely honest - to question or complain that they were inside another room, poorly lit by the remainder of sunlight from outside.

From the pace Spencer was previously keeping while walking, Derek immediately assumed he was upset, or mad or whatnot.

Instead, he let go of his arm and closed the door quietly, before turning around to face him with somewhat of a concerned but gentle look.

"...what's all this about? Didn't Hotch need me or something?"

"I'm sorry you had to put up with those two." Spencer said, completely dodging the question.

Derek arched a brow. "It's not your fault."

The other looked at the hardwood floor beneath his Converse's, shrugging after the pause. "I know."

Morgan didn't understand a single thing of what was happening in that moment; what he _did_ understand fairly well was that he wasn't sure how long he could keep his hands to himself with Spencer standing 3 ft in front of him, his hands wringing nervously and a couple of curls hit by the golden light suffused by the dusty window hanging over his face because of how he was eyeing down.

"By the way..." he prompted; a desperate attempt to get himself out of that situation.

As Reid's pretty face darted up he realized he would've had better not to talk at all.

"...I wasn't finished with those two shitheads."

A corner of the other man's lips quirked up.

"That was my goal, kind of."

Derek found himself having to add up things the wrong way, because he didn't know what to cling onto.

"What's that supposed to mean? You think they're right??"

"No! What?? No, _God_ no!" Spencer rushed to contradict, shaking his head wildly.

"I- I mean, I didn't want you to... puch them in the guts or whatever."

Morgan couldn't but bite back an amused grin at Reid's sheepish tone and stupid concern.

"That's what you thought I was gonna do?" he asked; calmer now.

Spencer batted his lashes, folding his arms around his torso shyly. "Weren't you?"

Derek snorted, nodding his defeat. It all made sense now.

"Alright. You got me."

Silence.

"But they deserved it." he added on a serious note. "Not only they aren't cooperating, they also gotta come up with bullshit to say about the _victims_. I get when they judge ME, but this..." he trailed off, exhaling deeply.

The other listened with his head tilted. Derek wouldn't have been really surprised if he hadn't replied - there was nothing to add after all.

"...yeah, I know." he still did. "But, let's just..."

Morgan watched him carefully as he dropped his gaze once again, this time promptly tucking his hair behind his ears _before_ it could fall on his forehead.

"...let's just work quickly and wrap this up so we can go home."

Derek was the one unable to answer now. He waited until the boy raised his chin again.

"...right?"

He smiled.

"Right."

Just like that, all the rage those two idiots had forcefully planted in him was buried; layer by layer, pebble by pebble.

Morgan allowed himself to side-hug Reid's lithe frame as they walked out of the room, now that everything was good again.

It always ended up like that. It started with him wasting energy on an annoying someone or something and ended up with his arm slung around Spencer's neck or his hand on the small of his back or his fingers messing with his hair. It ended up with Spencer helping him put things in perspective, the perspective of ground-level, the one that made sense and the only one he should worry about instead of inflating his head with painful wrath.

Spencer always brought him back to his feet soles, always made it all familiar and easy. Even when they were up in the air, on that damned jet where everything seemed out of reach and warped and escaping the grip of his mind - even hovering 30 thousand feet above the comfort that the ground inherently bears, Spencer carried it around as though he'd been gifted with that same comfort.

"Thank you, by the way." he said against his ear - because _'I love you'_ was too much.

Spencer turned his head to look at him with hazel eyes, and Derek for the millionth time considered that maybe it was too much only to say _out loud_ , because in itself the phrase seemed almost too meek.

Reid lowered his eyes again, maybe - just _maybe_ \- burrowing an inch closer to his body, as they closed the distance left to reach the room where their team were.

"Thank _you_." he mumbled in return.

Morgan had long given up on understanding what the kid meant when he came up saying things like that.

He wondered if he did because he, too, deemed _'I love you'_ excessive.


	4. EARTH - pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual I won't get into the team's case very in detail cause I'm _bad_ with 'em, but I still felt like a minimum context was needed (so not ~much~ happening in this chapter... it's a bit of a "filler" that leads to an intense part!). Also, _minor_ mentions of sexual stuff (not what you guys are hoping for though, sorry-not-sorry :3)

If Morgan had to describe how the previous day had been, "uneventful" would be an understatement.

The only thing worth of mention was that bickering with those two officers - and even then: nothing had really _happened_ anyway.

Nothing had happened because _Reid_ had prevented it from happening. But nothing had happened WITH Reid either; and it was only a matter of time - and maybe a good 30 milliliters of alcohol in his system, just to be sure - before Derek lost every bit of his already below average inhibition and grabbed the boy's pretty face to kiss him.

Though it's not like one could blame him, was it? It's not like it was Derek's fault if Spencer looked like _that_. At times he wondered how he wasn't yet taken. But most importantly, Morgan wondered why he himself hadn't yet found the courage to call dibs on him, especially considering how second nature it usually was for him to hit on women and men both with a 0,1% risk of being rejected.

The best answer he had come up with was that, in this specific case, it _was_ in fact too risky. Spencer wasn't like anybody else he'd ever met before, so that negligible percentage of probability of rejection would spike up without a smidge of doubt. And, with that same lack of doubt, Derek was NOT going to jeopardize what he had with Boy Genius; which in and of itself was already a blessing.

It was a blessing to be walking down the hall of his hotel room floor wearing that same jacket he'd imagined Spencer had worn, too.

It was _not_ a blessing, however, that Reid and him this time hadn't had to share a room - it _would_ have been if the case they were working on had been one of those that required Morgan's undivided attention, since he usually couldn't manage to focus all of it on those kinds of cases when Reid sat on his bed in his flannel pajama pants and oversized hoodie and his hair half-tied in a bun, surrounded by a mess of Manila folders and a laptop that he wasn't willing to admit he never actually used, which only made the whole picture more endearing and adorable.

Of course, when claiming the last 24 hours circa had been uneventful, Derek had purposely kept out of count his rightful decision to at least indulge in the not-sharing-a-room thing by thinking of Spencer in his jacket and somehow his hand had travelled down and settled inside his boxers and, _well_. It would be a lie to say it was the first time he'd ended up either in that situation, or in its more socially acceptable and less morally degrading alternative: in bed with someone he'd found at a bar, hoping that 1) they'd be too tipsy to notice how his eyes had remained close all the time in order to better picture _someone else_ , and more importantly 2) they'd gather that he had no intention of committing to whatever type of relationship; be it strictly sex-founded or something more.

Work-wise, however, the team were fumbling in the dark.

Normally, killers like this one were easy to catch: the motive of their killings was allegedly "ethical", but in reality it had so much more to do with their own warped and sick ideology than it had to do with actual justice. A vigilante's belief that his own disgust toward less fortunate people is just and universal is nothing short of an excuse to avoid admitting to himself the absurdity of their reasoning. At a certain point this type of unsub would devolve and commit a mistake - the key for the team to catch him.

This one, though, was far from his devolving stage, and on top of that - judging by his "ritual" to label the victims with their blood - it seemed like the personal motive was more relevant than usual. 

After having explored possible symbolical meanings to this specific signature - this sort of digging and research was typically Reid's knack, but for some reason he'd seemed to Morgan slightly out of his element in the past days - the team had settled for the theory that writing degrading etiquettes on the victims' foreheads was an attempt at recreating something that had happened to him during his childhood; an act of bullying of the like, hopefully scandalous enough to have been registered in some local newspaper. So now, it was really only a matter of waiting for Garcia's call to see if she'd found anything.

If that were the case, they could immediately narrow their search to people who had a tormented childhood and a few petty crimes in their record, grown in a family where at least one of the members had a history of drug addiction or prostitution if not both, and most importantly they could undoubtedly rule out the possibility of the unsub being caucasian.

 _If that were the case_. And it better be, because the team had to come up with and deliver a profile by that same afternoon. And it was already 9:21 am.

And where the hell were Reid and JJ, by the way? Morgan was supposed to drive to the station with them, and considering that in the quarter of hour he'd been sitting in the hotel lobby he hadn't seen Hotch, Rossi or Prentiss pass by, he figured the three must have left way before he'd even _started_ waiting for the other two.

"I can already _feel_ Hotch's glare piercing through my skull..." JJ's voice got louder as she approached him from behind; her heels echoing in the empty foyer.

Morgan merely turned his head to follow her with his gaze, nodding in both agreement and apprehension.

The blonde didn't sit down, though, instead looking around with a frown wrinkling her gracious features. Derek already knew what she was about to ask.

"...where's Reid?"

He sighed. "I don't know. He's never _this_ late."

The woman's eyes searched her surroundings for a few seconds more; her foot tapping on the carpeted floor as she weighed her options.

"Alright. I'Il call him." she stated.

"No need to do that." Reid's voice startled them both. They turned their heads to look at the boy as he jogged down the stairs.

"Spence, what the hell ?" JJ asked, as if it an were an actual, sensible question.

Morgan stood to his feet, fetching the SUV keys in advance in the pocket of his leather jacket; his pupils never leaving the lean figure of his collegue closing the distance between himself and the other two.

"Sorry..." he mumbled, sparing Derek the quickest and most aplogetic of glances before dropping his gaze to the floor for good; nimble fingers rising to adjust behind his ears his brunette locks, untamed and... damp, also. Morgan tried to find comfort in the fact that the kid's delay was probably due to having showered.

He tried to bury the feeling of worry that inevitabily sprung in his chest each time he saw Spencer disheveled and fidgety like that.

Derek _knew_ he had to get the kid to talk. He knew how Spencer tended to burst if he kept everything inside that brain of his, despite his habit of deflecting everyone's concerns as though they were exaggerating - as though the last time he'd hidden his problems from them he hadn't spiraled in a drug addiction.

Even so little as a 10-minute car ride would be the perfect situation to make him spit it out but - Morgan hated to admit it - the presence of JJ was surely discouraging both of them to prompt the conversation.

Almost as if someone up there had read his mind - not that Derek believed in that sort of stuff - JJ's phone rang.

" 's it Hotch?" Morgan asked, looking at her from the rear view mirror.

"Uh," she sighed. "No, it's Will." she said with a slightly wary tone.

Even a phone call being the perfect excuse to have an illusion of privacy, Morgan couldn't exactly help but feel the sublte sting of worry that maybe something had happened to little Henry.

He glimpsed at Spencer to fathom if he, too, had got that feeble sensation, but he was staring blankly outside the window as if the idea that something might've been up with his Godson hadn't even brushed his mind.

Derek catched the first couple of phrases of JJ's side of the conversation. He gathered that it wasn't any of the worrisome scenarios he'd imagined and felt relieved enough to turn his attention back to the boy sitting at his right.

"Kid,"

Spencer's head immediately turned toward him. So he only _seemed_ lost in thought...

Derek's lips couldn't but curve in a hint of smile. "You alright?"

"Mhmh." the other mumbled. Morgan regretted not glancing at him to verify if his expression had matched the confirmation.

"...sure?" he looked _now_.

Spencer sighed. "Yeah." he reiterated. "I just... haven't slept a lot."

Derek nodded slowly, assessing how to phrase his further prying without crossing a line.

"Something bugging you?"

The boy shrugged. "You mean... people being murdered aside?"

Normally Morgan would've snorted at the wry joke, but all things considered he didn't feel like doing it in that moment.

"Yeah. People being murdered aside."

Spencer looked at his hands in his lap; a few curls falling over the side of his face hindered Derek from seeing what his facial features were coveying.

"I just-"

Right in the moment he was starting to open up, Reid's phone rang. The same occurrence that had helped Derek earlier now backfiring at him.

"Hotch?"

"Yeah, she's on the phone with Will so that's probably why..."

" _Oh_. Ok we- we're almost there."

"I know it's... it's _my_ fault, actually... I got up late..."

"Yes. Yeah, I know I'm- I'm sorry. We'll be there in 5."

The brief conversation with their boss left Spencer even more mortified and closed off than before.

Derek refrained from pulling over and taking the boy in his arms.

The call, Morgan discovered a few seconds later, had been to inform them that there was another victim. By noon Rossi, Reid and him had visited the crime scene, where the body laid exactly as it was found; while Prentiss and Hotch had gone to talk with the victim's mother.

Kyle Hill, 25 years old, african-american. Or, _"Faggot"_ , as the bloody writing on his forehead cited.

Careful to not acknowledge how close to home that particular killing had hit him, Morgan tried to only focus on noticing what could actually be helpful to build a profile.

For starters, the scene was messier than the previous ones. In that moment they obviously couldn't go very deep on the analysis of the physical damage, but even so much as a quick look had revealed some bruising around the boy's knuckles and blood under his nails - he seemed to have put up a fight. If the team had to go by that, and the carelessness with which the body was discarded, the theory that the unsub was projecting his own trauma onto his victims could make sense, especially if the frustration shown on this one was the symptom that this kid in particular had triggered _something_ in him.

On the other hand, though, the complete lack of remorse in _any_ measure that characterized this as well as all the previous killings, along with the fact that, much to everyone's disappointment, Garcia had found nothing even _nearly_ close to what they were hoping to find, meant that the act was unpersonal and served the sole scope of cleaning the streets.

So they were back to square one.

Around 4pm Morgan sauntered back in the conference room, expecting to find Reid working at his geographical profile along with at least Prentiss and Rossi.

When he found nothing but the mess of books, maps and case files the genius seemed to scatter around by just walking, he frowned.

"Oh- hey..."

Morgan jerked his head toward the voice. He smiled fondly at the sight of Spencer carrying two cups of coffee.

"Pretty boy," he leaned against the edge of the table, crossing his arms. "Where did everyone go?"

Reid glanced around as if he hadn't yet noticed they were alone.

"Uhm..." he shifted his eyes back to him. "I believe Emily's gone to the bathroom... no idea about Rossi though."

"Thanks." Derek said softly as the other handed him one of the cups.

Spencer smirked bashfully. "It's my way to apologize for being late this morning..."

Derek snorted, shaking his head. He was really clueless, wasn't he?

"No need to apologize about that, kid. I'm more concerned that you haven't been sleeping than about Hotch busting my ass."

He realized he'd pushed too far when the boy's smile fell off his gorgeous face.

_Cool. Go on, expose him like that. Once again: very good._

He gaped for awhile before finding some other topic to replace the one currently hanging gingerly between them.

"So... how's the geo-profile going?"

Spencer sighed, heading toward the overly pinned map taped to the whiteboard.

"It's _not_ going, actually. The locations where the victims were killed and dumped don't seem to follow any specific pattern. The fact that they can all be found within an area of a 5-mile radius could mean that the unsub lives nearby just as much as it could mean that this specific area is in some way important to him..." he paused thoughtfully.

"or, it could just be a misleading tactic. And we're gonna have to deliver a working profile in... an hour and 22 minutes." he concluded, taking a sip of his beverage.

Just when Derek was about to throw some reassuring and praising words at him, Spencer made a grimace of disgust that was nothing short of priceless while swallowing the gulp of coffee.

He couldn't contain a chuckle. "What's wrong?"

The boy scrunched his nose once again. _Cute_. "I'm- uhm- I- I'm pretty sure this is _your_ coffee..."

 _Ah_. Now everything made sense.

Morgan's brows furrowed as he looked down at the cup he'd been idly holding for the past few minutes. He took an experimental sip - regretting it a second after.

"Yeah," he said, shaking his head in a failed attempt to lessen the aching that the shameless amount of sugar was causing his cheeks. "this one is _definitely_ yours."

They exchanged cups; satisfaction painted on both their faces as they finally tasted exactly what they'd expected to taste in the first place.

Derek tried not to stare too hard at Spencer happily chugging his cloying coffee as if it were plain water.

So _fucking_ cute. 

As Morgan slumped on his bed that night, he couldn't find comfort in the fact that they'd managed to come up with somewhat of a working profile, albeit having had to necessarily skip on the geographical pattern - because there was no such thing in this case, Reid claimed. Unless they were missing something. They were missing _a lot_ of things, frankly.

After having changed in a t-shirt and sweats, his phone started ringing.

He gathered that, at that hour, it must have been either one of his sisters or...

"Hey there, Babygirl."

_"Good evening, my dear knight in shining armor."_

He smirked amusingly. " _That_ one's new."

Penelope giggled. _"It is, indeed, but in light of recent events I think I might add it to my list of nicknames."_

Derek briefly wallowed in a confused silence.

"...recent events?"

 _"Recent events."_ she repeated.

He snorted. "Look, are you gonna give me a hint or not?"

Morgan heard her exhaling and could picure her signature eye-roll. He smiled at the image.

_"Yesterday? When Idiot number 1 and Idiot number 2 got on your nerves?"_

_Oh_.

"I'm not even gonna ask HOW you know about that."

 _"Very good."_ she drawled teasingly. _"Now. Give me the deets."_

He sighed. "There's no 'deets', sweetness. I promise you I didn't even get to bust their ass like I wanted cause-"

 _"Cause Doctor Handsome popped up. Hm?"_ she finished his phrase.

 _Doctor Handsome_. Derek couldn't explain how, but _that_ and 'Pretty Boy' seemed equally accurate. His expression morphed into some sort of frown mixed up with a lopsided grin - he was glad Garcia couldn't see him. Although, knowing the woman, he couldn't afford being 100% sure.

"Yeah." he nodded. "Seriously, how do you know exactly what happ-"

 _"AND what did he do??"_ she talked over him.

"I think you know that already at this point, don't ya?"

 _"Oh, baby."_ she laughed. _"Yes, I do. But it's 10 times more fun if YOU say it."_

Morgan shook his head, resigned to the fact that she'd never stop bugging him about it if he refused to talk. It was best to just rip the band-aid.

"He did nothing specific, Penelope. He just came up with the excuse that Hotch needed me and dragged me in some room to talk me out of snapping at those two."

_"Aww"_

He laughed nervously. "What? Am I missing somethin' here??"

Garcia cackled shamelessly. _"Oh you're missing EVERYTHING, Derek Morgan!"_

In the exact second he opened his mouth to retort, he heard a feeble knock on the door of his room.

He fell silent for a few instants to turn his head around and stand up at last.

_"...well? You're not gonna fuss at all? Have you already moved on to the 'acceptance' stage of falling in love??"_

Her ridiculous statement and the tone she used made Derek smile helplessely while he moved toward the door.

"Whatever you say, silly girl." he paused. "Now, someone knocked so I gotta go."

_"SOMEONE KNOCKED- are you kidding me?? Go get him, lover!"_

"Wha-? I don't even know who-"

 _"Stop wasting time for God's sa- UGH, Derek Morgan, do I have to always tell you everything? Bye! Muah!"_ she squealed before hanging up.

The conversation left him chuckling. He detached the phone from his ear and turned his attention to the door; opening it casually only because he hadn't had the time to take guesses on _who_ it could be and _what_ they wanted at nearly 11:30 pm.

His smile was washed away in a millisecond at most by the sight beyond his door.

Spencer, in his pj's, shaking in a way he'd never seen him doing so far.

Derek felt an excruciating clench at his heart when the boy's teary eyes unglued from the floor to lock with his.

He stepped aside to let him in without either of them needing to pronounce a syllable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if there's a complete lack of, like... "earth-related" words/imagery etc. but I ran out of 'em in the previous chapter 🤓 heh

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: @cyn-00


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